


As Your Heart Starts To Beat Again

by rxcrcfllptrs



Category: Team Crafted
Genre: Multi, Spark Verse, yolo amirite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is common courtesy that is to be expected when meeting someone.</p>
<p>If you have not sparked, it is expected of you to extend your left hand in greeting as it is the hand that would be affected by the shock.</p>
<p>However once you have found your spark, you are expected to extend your right hand in greeting, showing that you are no longer searching.</p>
<p>In some instances though, more than one name will be appearing on an individual. With names connected by a simple ampersand, it is frowned upon when one has more than one spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of my friend's (thisandthensome on tumblr) Spark Verse. I promise I'm not a thief.

There's a vast - possibly infinite - amount of alternate universes out there, flitting in and out of their specific continuums, floating amongst their kind. All the same in some way, but also different in another.

They say that everything is connected in some way. It can be in cycles or systems or chains, often described as intangible in the most obvious of ways. In this universe, this connection is more visible than you'd think.

All it takes is a spark.

The small burst of electricity that travels through your system, the loudest wake up call a creature could receive. It could suddenly just clap when you meet your friend, a famous movie star, your boss. It sparks with a touch.

This spark could be where it starts - or where it all ends.

* * *

 

When Jason walks down the streets of Minecraftopia, it's on one bionic leg and on a biological one. It isn't noticeable when it's covered by layers of silicon, designed to look like human skin to the very picometer. No one notices it, but he still feels alien in a world saturated by humanity. Only so very few survive being turned into cyborgs, and he's one of the lonely few who's still walking and breathing through metal lungs to this day.

"Good morning, Jason," the receptionist greets him serenely. He gives the robot an uneasy smile before scurrying into an elevator. It's been at least a few years since he was converted ( _eleven years, eight months, three weeks, two days, an hour, thirty-six minutes and counting_ , his data banks report), but he still doesn't feel fully incorporated into the endless stream of information that computers and robots have to offer. He's the outsider in the world where man and technology have coexisted since the beginning of time, and he doesn't quite know what to feel about that.

Glass doors hiss open when he reaches his floor, the cool blast of air making him shiver slightly. He's used to the sensation of having only half his body feel pain or heat or cold.  _I might even be able to withstand a spark now_ , he thinks, walking to his desk. 

There's not much memorabilia on his desk, only a frame of him and his parents Before, a small figurine from a friend Before, and a piece of scrap metal he scrounged After. As the computer acknowledges the android's software, he plays around with a pen someone left and contemplated his thoughts.

Mitch and Jerome, two of his coworkers, met a few days ago. The lights got knocked out for at least half an hour, and fax machines near their areas didn't work well for the entire week. The two have been inseparable ever since, and Jason wonders if he'll even trigger that biological response. He looks at his left wrist, flesh and bone replaced by artificial skin and resin. Would the name still appear when they sparked? He might never know.

A beep from the computer startles him out of his stupor. The android looks at the screen and sighs at the amount of work dumped on him again. He cracks his knuckles and starts working.

* * *

Wrist dislocation didn't deter Sky from doing what he loves most. He smoothly boards through the sidewalk on his preferred mode of transportation, disgruntling a few businessmen in the process. He doesn't care, really, as his eyes zero in on the doors of the place he's been asked to come to - unwillingly, but he isn't going to pass up an opportunity to skip school for the day.  _Aurum Cybernetics Corporation_ , his brain supplies helpfully. He eases off his board and enters the building, tracking the floor with muddy footprints.

The robot woman at the counter - " _The receptionist isn't a plaything, Schuyler. Carter, have someone disable Bertha's speech functions when he enters the building."_  - only nods when her sensors notices him. Instead of taking the regular lift to the other floors, another elevator opens to the left of the desk. Only a select few ever get to use this other elevator, but he's indifferent to it - it's the only one he uses whenever he comes here.

Sky checks himself in the mirror as he ascends. Honestly, his wrists feels fine, but the butter-coloured cuffs are too cool to have to remove. He's been losing sleep, when he notices bags under his eyes. The teen thinks it's because of all his tossing and turning in bed, as if something big's supposed to happen very soon and his body can't contain itself. If it's what he's suspecting of, then he guesses there is good reason to the electricity he keeps feeling beneath his skin.

"Hey dad!" he greets cheerfully to the man sitting behind the desk. Sky leans his board against the wall carelessly, walking over then plopping down a chair in front of the desk. He fiddles with his wrist braces as the man types away, eyes trained on the computer screen. It's only when Sky's falling asleep does the man slam the laptop down in anger does he actually acknowledge his dad's presence.

"Oh, Schuyler, you're here," the man says.

"Dad, for the last time, call me Sky," the teen says, giving his father an exasperated look. "You don't need to twist your knot over saying my full name."

His father waves the sentence away. "Eh, details, details. How's your wrists?"

"Pretty good, but the doctor says I have to keep them on for at least another month to make sure they're fully healed," Sky replies, now circling his left brace. "Can I keep them after, though? They look really cool."

His father huffs, massaging the bridge of his nose.  _First that scum Teudioca actually gets a leg up in the competition, and my son still has the capability of handling a company like a piece of seashell,_  he mutters. "You can, and why didn't you tell me about the treatment being extended? You need to be in school, young man."

Sky shrugs. The man presses a button for the intercom. "Flanagan, keep my son busy, will you?" he pauses. Sky couldn't hear the tinny reply from his spot. "He's in my office. Have him mingle with some of your coworkers, get a feel of what he'll be taking control of when he's capable of it," Sky's dad side eyes him, who's turned huffy and crossed his arms.

_I don't even want to take over your stupid company, dad_ , Sky thinks as he looks out the window to the great unknown outside the sprawling city of Minecraftopia.  _Why couldn't I have grown up with parents who fought monsters and swung swords for a living?_  He thinks, remembering one of his new classmates, a weird guy named Kermit who has a weird liking of lava despite being a frog.

The elevator pings to signal Flanagan's arrival. Sky stands up and walks over to the employee, picking up his skateboard as he moves across the room. The last thing he sees before the elevator closes is his father opening his laptop again, grumbling about stocks and  _that damned Teudioca_  and all the adult things he hopes he'll never ever need to know.

"Why can't you just let me go to the skate park?" Sky mutters, rolling the skateboard's wheels, dirtying up the marble floor. "At least there I'd actually enjoy it.

Flanagan chuckles as a reply, pushing the teen into a room filled with cubicles and more people with their dead end jobs. "Because your father would kill me if he found out you injured yourself again. Besides, we have a new recruit from last week whose files say he's half robot…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that I've updated past the time I was supposed to. I can't make any promises that it'll get better, because it might just go downhill from here. Let's hope not! But enough of my rambling, here the chapter.

You'd think in a job in his area would mean that everything was scheduled and memos were sent out timely - but you couldn't be more wrong. Often he's had close encounters with the president's rowdy son, but only if you define close as a few meters away from each other. He was only an intern then, though. Absolutely no reason for an encounter with the teen. He feels the circuits pulsing under his skin hum out frantically, more so than in the past few months after maintenance. Jason tries not to dwell on it too much, even though his fingers are all jumpy at the sudden increase in electricity. _Don't think about it, Jason. Don't think about it and it won't happen._

There's a battle raging within himself, as he clenches and unclenches his fists. One part of his brain says that he can't spark now, his metal frame wouldn't be able to take all that power - he'd overload! But the other part, the more _humane_ part, keeps urging him towards the event. Who knows who his soulmate could be?

"…And this is the employee I was talking about earlier," he hears his boss say, his voice getting louder along with the sound of the footsteps. "Jason Cosmos, technically 27 years old, and one of the few people who live to have metal humming under their skin. Outfitted by your dad's company, of course," Mr. Flanagan says to his companion.

"Technically 27? How can you be technically 27?" Jason recognises the voice. ( _Schuyler "Sky" Aurum, the son of Adam Aurum, owner of Aurum Cybernetics Corporation. Often pegged as rebellious or friendly, depending on the source of information_ , his database helpfully supplies.)

For some reason, the voice makes his fist clench. "Well, you could ask me, since I'm right here. No promises on the answer though," he snarks a bit, turning his chair around to face his boss and the son of the president of the company. "Hi," he says simply, waving once with a curt smile. Mr. Flanagan gives him a look, one that Jason's seen the man give to his coworkers. ( _The 'what the hell do you think you're doing' look_ , his brain thinks smugly.)

"Don't be rude," his boss says to the teen, pushing him a bit forward towards the cyborg. With a huff, Sky extends his left arm. ( _Common etiquette for those who have yet to spark_.)

There's a niggling fear in the back of Jason's head, and his head is fighting with itself once again. One side urging him to take the hand, the other wanting to push it away. _What could possibly go wrong?_ is the last thought on his head before he shakes the other's hand.

* * *

Sky didn't think in a million years that he'd spark. Or he would, but it would've all eventually gone to shit. But then he sparked at the age of 16, and he just doesn't know what to think about that. The electricity is warm and comforting, but still sharp and jagged as it traveled up his arm and through into his chest. It concentrates especially on his left arm, and his hand feels frightfully numb at the contact. 

"Jason!" the voice, Flanagan, is muffled and barely comes through, but it's enough to put him through the haze. Jason - his _other_ \- was barely hanging on as various parts of his body started twitching, sparking. _He's a cyborg,_ his thoughts remind him, and he's hesitant to approach the convulsing figure. 

After what felt like minutes of watching Jason twitch on the ground, he just stops. Sky doesn't last much longer, when he's engulfed by the darkness.


End file.
